Sex Lessons
by sixeightshuffle
Summary: Edward Cullen lacks one essential thing: Good bedroom skills. Enter Isabella Swan, hired sex-therapist-turned-teacher. In her quest to remedy his problem, will their undeniable chemistry and sexual tension affect her 100 percent success rate?
1. The Call

**Chapter Notes:** I was twittering with **xtothey** about how Edward was always a sex God in all fics, and he always knew exactly what to do. I said, "There should a fic where Edward sucks in bed and hires Bella to teach him how to do it right," and she said, "write it." And so I did. This is just a fun little side project - nothing I'm going to be focusing all my attention on. Once you get ideas in your head, though, you have to write them down right away or they'll bug the hell out of you until you do.

Thanks to my amazing beta, Missy, for getting this back to me within hours of me sending it to her. Thanks to **xtothey**, of course, for the inspiration, thanks to Hannah for just being my lovah :) and thanks in advance to everybody who reads/reviews. This is just an intro of sorts; later chapters will be longer.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Twilight. The end.

* * *

_-E-_

"It was great," I said with a crooked grin, winking at Tanya Spelman – my latest sexual conquest – as I leaned against the door frame of my apartment. She walked into the hall and turned around, a smile on her face as she looked up at me.

"Mmm," she replied, still smiling. "Thanks for a...an interesting night."

"My pleasure. I'll see you at the restaurant," I said, giving her a brief wave before she turned around. I watched her retreating form - her hips swayed naturally, causing her strawberry-blond ponytail to sway as well – before turning back into my apartment and shutting the door.

Tanya Spelman was a bartender at a restaurant my best friend, Emmett McCarty, and I owned – E's Bar and Grill. (Emmett and I met in college; I was majoring in Culinary Arts, while he was majoring in Business. It'd worked out perfectly.) We'd engaged in harmless flirting in the past, but the last two weekends we'd hooked up. It was great, but I hoped she didn't expect a relationship from me; that just wasn't my style.

I strolled over to my couch, plopping down and propping my feet on my coffee table, a smug smile on my face. I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply through my nose, and relaxed. A few moments later, my phone chirped through the silence of my apartment. I sighed and hoisted myself off the couch begrudgingly, searching for my phone. I spotted it on the kitchen counter and made my way towards it, grabbing a small bottle of POM from the refrigerator first. I opened the bottle and took a swig, then unlocked the keypad, pressing the button to read my new text message...from Tanya. I smirked; she was already wanting more.

_**Still jackrabbit sex! I thought it was bad because of the alcohol last time, but I guess not. Such a shame – he's so hot!**_

I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. What was she talking about? _Who_ was she talking about? I replied with a simple "?" and sent it, then stood at the kitchen counter, waiting for a reply – it never came.

She couldn't have been talking about me, could she?

*

"Oh, man," Emmett laughed as he leaned back in his office chair. "Jackrabbit sex? That's rough, dude."

I rolled my eyes at him and snatched my phone out of his hands as he continued to snicker, my eyes reverting back to the offending message still on the screen.

"It may not have been about me, right? She could have been replying to a friend who had bad sex..." I trailed off and slumped down in my chair as Emmett stared at me with a raised eyebrow, shaking his head. How had this happened to me? I'd thought she was having a good time – her noises indicated as much. Were they just an act? And if so, what the hell was the point?

"Why didn't she say anything, then?" I demanded, my anger beginning to boil internally.

"Some 'feelings' complex; I don't know, dude. Why do they do _anything_ they do?" Emmett shrugged, shoving the last bit of toast he'd been eating in his mouth.

"Ugh, and I have to see her tonight. Do you think she'll tell people?" I questioned, wide-eyed.

"Probably, girls talk about that shit all the time - how big the guy's dick was; the size of their balls; if they were any good; if the girl got off."

I groaned, rubbing my face with my hands. And here I'd thought I'd given her one of the best nights of her life. A sudden thought hit me full-force, making the situation potentially ten times worse.

"What if this isn't the first time this has happened?" I asked, sitting upright quickly. "What if everybody I've ever slept with hated it? Emmett, I could be the laughing stock of the female population!"

"Yeah, maybe," Emmett replied, patting his stomach and folding his hands behind his head. "Man, that sucks," he snorted, his shoulders shaking as he laughed silently at my expense.

"You're not helping, Emmett," I snapped. He wouldn't be laughing if this was _him_. Asshole.

We lapsed into silence, with me sulking in my chair, wondering if it wouldn't be better to off myself right then – I could hear the eulogy:

_"Edward Cullen was a bright, handsome young man who led a promising life. Unfortunately, he was shit in bed, so he really won't be missed by the majority of the population. Good riddance, jackrabbit."_

My poor mother. I couldn't imagine having a child who was sexually challenged. _Is there a group for that? _I wondered._ There's a group for everything else..._

"Alright," Emmett started, snapping me out of my thoughts, "I may have something."

I stared at him expectantly, though I hardly _expected_ anything worthwhile to come out of his mouth. Nothing could help. I'd forever be known as "The Little Edward that _Couldn't_."

"I have this friend, Deryck – a lawyer, nice lookin' guy, too, I guess – and he had the same problem as you. Well, actually, he had it worse. Girls were putting up flyers in clubs and shit, saying 'do not go home with this guy!'"

"Jesus," I muttered, cringing. I could only hope that shit wasn't happening to me at the restaurant.

"I know," Emmett nodded solemnly. "Anyway, I guess one of Deryck's clients was getting a divorce because he couldn't keep it in his pants, and he let it slip that he'd gone to this sex-therapist-turned-teacher, who had turned him into a self-proclaimed sex God.

"So, Deryck got the name and number of this chick, went to her for a few months, and now girls are like _flocking_ to him. Even _I've_ heard gossip about his skills in the sack, unfortunately," he added, cringing.

I stared blankly at him. "What's your point, Emmett?"

"God, you're dense," he said, exasperated. "My _point_ is that this lady took a sexual pariah and turned him into a pro in the sack. She can help you!"

"Let me get this straight. You're telling me that I should take sex lessons from some random woman?" I deadpanned.

He looked contemplative for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, sex lessons. Sounds about right."

"That's disgusting!" I cried, appalled. "She's probably fucked hundreds, maybe even _thousands_ of people in exchange for money – there's a name for that, by the way; it's called _prostitution_, which is illegal - and you want me to _willingly_ go to her?!"

"No! No, dude, she doesn't actually have _sex_ with her clients! That's the beauty of it!" he exclaimed, waving his hands around.

"Then how the hell does she—"

"I don't _know_, Edward, fuck," he huffed. "But she's helped at least two people, and it wouldn't kill you to check it out, just once. According to that text," he said, nodding towards my phone, "you need all the help you can get right now."

My gaze dropped down to my phone as well, and my eyebrows furrowed. I didn't understand this at all, but Emmett seemed sure it would work. I really couldn't be any worse off than I was right now, and as long as my bank account didn't take a massive blow, I couldn't really see the harm.

"I can get you her number right now..." he said, fishing his phone out of his pocket and waving it around, as if that was supposed to be enticing.

I thought about it for a few moments more, then nodded with a sigh. "Fine, get me her number."

Emmett grinned and scrolled through his phone before bringing it up to his ear.

"Deryck, hey! It's Emmett," he greeted. "Listen, I have a favor to ask..."

I tuned out as he told Deryck a summarized version of my sob story, only paying attention when he smacked the table to get my attention. He gestured for me to pick up my phone, then began spewing off numbers.

"206," he started, and I punched it into my phone, "412-6918. Isabella Swan? Got it. Thanks again, man. I'll talk to you soon." He paused for a moment, before, "Yeah, for sure. Alright, bye."

He hung up and shoved his phone into his pocket, then stared at me with raised eyebrows. "Go on, then."

"Right _now_?" I asked, staring at him anxiously.

"The sooner, the better. Call her."

I rolled my eyes and looked down at my phone, my thumb hovering over the send button for a few seconds before actually pressing it. It rang and rang, then rang some more; after about the fifth ring, I was about to hang up. Right as I began to pull the phone away from my ear, a click sounded through the speaker, followed by a soft, female voice.

"Isabella Swan," she answered. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing was coming out. I was completely dumbfounded. Was I seriously about to do this? "Hello?" she asked.

"I—yeah, hi, sorry. I, um...I need to make an, uh...an appointment. With you," I added. "Or at least I think it's you." I swallowed thickly, screwing my eyes shut. Could I _sound_ any more retarded?

"Okay," she replied, chuckling softly. "What's the issue?"

I snorted. _How long have you got?_ I thought, but instead I pursed my lips and exhaled heavily through my nose.

"Sex."

* * *

**End Notes: **Thoughts? Review, please. :) xx


	2. The Evaluation

**Chapter Notes: **I'm having a crappy day and I figured it'd help to have my ego stroked, so I'm posting. Thanks to my amazing beta, Missy, for the time and effort she takes to fix my crappy writing up, as well as her overall concern for my wellbeing; thanks to my lovah, Hannah, for always reading the horrible unedited versions of every single thing I write and giving me her feedback and never-ending support; and, of course, thanks to you all in advance for reading/reviewing. Enjoy. xx

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the characters or their location, but I _do_ own the concept, so don't steal my shit. Kthx.

* * *

_-B-_

I sat at my desk, tapping my pen against the wood as I waited for my assistant to buzz me and let me know my 9:30 AM appointment, and possible new client, was here.

Edward Cullen.

I'd almost told him I couldn't help him when he called – I'd _just_ finished up the last file on one of four clients I'd been seeing that day, and I'd planned on taking a week off as I'd not had a vacation for two and a half months. He'd sounded so nervous, though, with a hint of dejection in his voice, and so my compassionate side won out and I agreed to do an evaluation.

My knee began bouncing up and down nervously of its own accord. I was always anxious before meeting a new client. My fear of failing them in the end was always present, even though I had yet to actually do so. Quite the opposite. I kept in contact from time to time with my former clients, and they always gave me exceptional reports. Well, except for Peter, who had gotten divorced because he felt his newly acquired skills "shouldn't be confined to just one woman." Ah, well. They couldn't _all_ turn out good.

My intercom buzzed, snapping me out of my reverie, and I pressed the correct button on the phone.

"Yes?" I asked.

"Edward Cullen is here to see you," Alice replied.

"Thank you, Alice. Send him in."

I released the button and quickly made sure the intercom was indeed off. As I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose slightly, a timid knock sounded from the door, and I called, "Come in!" The door opened to reveal a tall, lean man in jeans and a blue, long sleeve thermal. My gaze traveled up to his face and I inhaled sharply. He had honey brown eyes and messy bronze hair, a drool-worthy jawline, and a beautifully pink mouth. I'd had generically attractive clients before, sure, but this man was above and beyond picture-perfect, and it was incredibly intimidating. I almost considered telling him to get the hell out right then. His eyes and body language screamed, "Help me!" though, and, once again, my stupid compassion won me over.

"Hello," I said, standing up and smoothing out the front of my skirt, "you must be Edward. Go ahead and close the door behind you, then take a seat."

I gestured to the chair across from me, plastering a smile on my face, and watched as he closed the door and hesitantly made his way over to the desk.

"I'm Isabella Swan," I said, holding out my hand to him. He took it into his, shaking it firmly, and my hand immediately felt like it was on fire. I pulled my hand back quickly in shock, staring down at it incredulously. I chanced a glance at Edward, and his expression wasn't far off from mine.

"I'm sorry about that," I apologized, "the heater's been on the fritz lately."

"It's okay," he replied, looking around the office as he fidgeted in his seat. I could relate to his nerves.

"So, as I said on the phone, this is an initial evaluation. Everything that is talked about here doesn't leave this room, at least on my part. I don't have any other associates, and I keep my files locked away – I'm the only one with a key. Everything is safe here."

He nodded and pursed his lips, still not looking directly at me. That was always how it was in the initial meeting; the men felt inadequate and insecure, hating the fact that they even needed to be here in the first place. Many of them ended up saying they couldn't do it and leaving, but they always came back at some point.

"Why don't you tell me why you're here," I pressed, giving him an encouraging smile.

"Same reason anybody else comes to you, I'm assuming," he replied with a nervous chuckle. I continued staring at him with a smile, silently urging him to continue.

"Okay," he sighed, "well, it started with a text I received by accident from a girl I hooked up with..."

He launched into his story, still looking uncomfortable. I listened to him intently, but my gaze kept drifting down to his mouth. Close up, I could see that his bottom and top lip were about the same size. As he'd been looking around, I noticed that, from the side, his nose had a slight bump near the bridge, but those imperfections only enhanced his beauty. God, it really should be illegal for a human being to be so gorgeous. _It's a damn shame he needs help in – _

I cut myself off mid-thought. I could not think of a client this way, it would ruin the entire process. Well, I could only assume it would. I'd never found any of my clients particularly enticing...until now.

"...So, yeah. I just need help, because I can't go through life knowing I'm crap in bed," he finished.

"Understandable," I replied, trying not to laugh at his bluntness. Truth be told, all I'd really caught from his explanation as to why he was here was "jackrabbit sex"; that was essentially all I _needed_ to hear.

"Can I ask you something?" he questioned, finally looking at me.

"Anything," I replied.

"My friend said you don't actually...you know, have sex with your clients," he started.

"That's correct," I nodded. That was a rule that would never be broken. I was simply an _educator_, not a prostitute.

"So then how do you actually...?" he trailed off, but I knew exactly what he meant. It was a common question, and I'd be a bit worried if nobody asked.

"We'll meet once a week, for a minimum of eight weeks," I said. "Most of the 'work', per-se, will be done at home as assignments, but in general, I use videos and various sex toys. It doesn't sound like much, I know, but in my experience they work the best."

He nodded, staring at the top of my desk with slightly furrowed brows. I had an inexplicable urge to reach over and smooth out the creases, and the thought made me tense up. _Client. He's your client._

"Why do you do this?"

Ah, the most common question. You'd think I'd get tired of answering it, but I never really did. I felt a lot like Sarah Jessica Parker's character, Paula, in Failure To Launch, especially when I rehashed my history.

"One of my ex-boyfriends, who is still a very good friend of mine, had issues in the bedroom. I was the first woman who had been honest with him about it, and he begged me to help him. He was an eager student, and listened to everything I said. There was fast progress, and the next relationship he went into was his last. His wife, who is a friend of mine, assured me that my efforts were not in vain.

"He had a friend who was having issues, and he confided in him that he'd gotten my help. His friend asked if I would help him, and my friend then asked me if I'd be willing. I was hesitant at first – I'd been sexually involved with him when I was helping him – but I agreed to try. Obviously, I had to use different methods, but inevitably the outcome was the same.

"A friend of his turned into an acquaintance of that person, which turned into three other friends, and soon, I was essentially running a business in, more or less, an advanced course in sex education. I was getting enough clients from word-of-mouth, and making a generous amount of money, so I left my job as a sex therapist, bought the office, and dedicated my time to this."

He'd relaxed exponentially since he'd entered my office, but he still seemed uneasy.

"I've had a one-hundred percent success rate, Edward," I assured him. "If you decide to do this, it _will_ work."

"I believe you," he sighed, "this is just really embarrassing," he chuckled, running a hand through his hair awkwardly and making it even more of a mess – a beautiful mess.

"It'll get easier," I said with a smile. "Are we set?"

He sat in contemplation for a few moments, and I let him have his silence. I folded my hands neatly and placed them on the desk, staring at him as I waited for his response.

"Yeah, we're set," he sighed. "I haven't got anything to lose, right? Except my money, of course."

"Naturally," I replied, my lips twitching into a smile. I would never deny that I didn't run cheap – my set rate was $2500 for the full eight weeks – but I felt it was well worth it, given the end results. I never charged for the initial meeting, though. It hardly seemed fair.

"Alright, then. If we're set, you can go up front to Alice and make your next appointment and payment arrangements," I smiled, standing up. He followed suit, nodding at me with a smile. I outstretched my hand and he took it; once more, the burning sensation was immediate, but I dealt with it, as he did, then let go of his hand as he turned to walk away.

Once he was out of my office with the door shut behind him, I collapsed ungracefully in my seat. How I was supposed to work with that man for the next two months and pretend like I didn't find him delectable was beyond me, but I'd have to figure out a way. This was my job, and I wasn't about to fail at it now.

* * *

_-E-_

I wanted to fuck my therapist; that much was undeniable. From the moment I'd walked into her office - smelling warmth and vanilla; seeing her big brown eyes staring at me, a smile on her beautiful mouth and her brown hair pulled back elegantly - I was a dead man. Then I saw her black pencil skirt and fitted charcoal gray sweater, and it was all over.

I shouldn't have even sat down. I should have turned right around and walked out of her office, but I was apparently a masochist. It was the most awkward thing of my life, having to explain to her exactly _why_ I was there. I hadn't wanted her to think any less of me because my sexual skills were less than desirable, but just the notion that, after all was said and done, I could potentially fuck her _properly_ – meaning _not_ like a jackrabbit – kept me glued to my seat and willing to dish out $2500 of my mutherfucking hard earned money.

God, I felt pathetic.

After making an appointment for two weeks from today, I took the walk of shame out into the breezy Seattle air, got in my car, and headed to the restaurant to start my day.

The second I settled down in my office, Emmett ambushed me. He shut and locked the door behind him, then turned to me with a questioning look and a grin.

"Well?" he asked.

"Well, what?" I replied with disinterest, shuffling through papers on my desk, trying to find the one with potential new items to add to our menu, proposed by the head chef.

"How did it _go_, man?" he pressed, sitting on the edge of my desk.

"It went fine," I murmured, staring down at the paper with furrowed eyebrows. "Get off my desk before you break it, please."

_Spicy eggplant salad, foie gras _- Emmett huffed and sat down across from me - _chicken parmigiana, filet mignon..._

"Dude, come on. I practically set this shit up for you, you have to give me a little more than that."

"_Couscous_?! What the hell does Freddy think this is, some five-star restaurant? This is a _bar and grill_;none of our customers would eat this shit!" I huffed, throwing the paper down on the desk and rubbing my hands over my face.

"Fire him," Emmett replied nonchalantly. I snorted; Emmett didn't like Freddy. I'd never quite figured out why. All I'd managed to get out of either of them was something about San Diego and a thug named Paco.

"I'm not going to fire him, Emmett," I drawled, rolling my eyes. "Besides his _lovely_ personality" —Emmett scoffed so hard, I thought he might blow boogers out of his nose— "he's a good employee and, despite this crap," I said, smacking the paper I'd been reviewing, "he comes up with good shit."

"Yeah, whatever," Emmett muttered, clearly not wanting to hear any praise on Freddy's behalf. "Tell me how your meeting went, then."

"You're a fucking woman, you know that, right?" I glared at him as he stared back at me, completely unfazed. "What do you want to know, asshole?"

"About _her_," he said in an obvious tone. "What does she look like? For some reason I pictured Angela Lansbury in her younger days – you know, her fifties. Oh, and she'd have one of those wooden pointer things. Definitely."

It was moments like these where I wondered why I was his friend, much less why I had gone into business with him.

"Sorry to disappoint," I replied, turning on my computer and waiting for it to load up. "She's no Angela Lansbury."

He sat, completely silent, as I logged onto windows and pulled up the internet – I needed to go through the food orders.

"You bore me," he said finally, pushing back the chair, standing up and making his way towards the door.

"She's young, and incredibly hot," I admitted upon hearing the door open, a smirk on my face, though I never looked away from my computer screen.

"That's what I'm talkin' about," he whooped, letting out a bark of laughter as he exited my office. I shook my head, still smirking, and focused on the web page on my screen. Suddenly, a pop-up came on the screen; bare asses and boobs, accentuated by a hot pink background, were flashing in my face.

"What the...?"

I clicked out of it, but three more replaced the one, and within seconds there were at least ten porno ads littering my screen.

"Goddammit - _Emmett_!" I boomed; this had him written all over it. I stood up quickly, bounding towards the door and throwing it open. "Emmett, you bastard, get in here and fix this shit!"

I could hear his laughter from inside his office and grabbed the handle, but of course, it was locked. I kicked it as hard as I could manage, cursing internally as my foot began to throb – bad idea.

"Are you gonna punch me in the nuts?" he asked through his laughter.

"I will if you don't show your face in five seconds and _fix my computer_!" I shouted, accentuating the last few words with three more kicks to the door.

"Okay, okay, chill out," he sighed, opening his door cautiously. "Back it up about five feet and I'll come out."

I clenched my jaw and backed up, my eyes in slits as I watched him slide out of his office and walk down the hall, towards mine, backwards; a lazy grin played on his face.

"You stay out here and I'll go fix it," he said quickly, before darting into my office and closing the door behind him. I leaned against the wall, folding my arms across my chest as I waited and waited, then waited some more for him to exit my office.

"Will you hurry the hell up?" I barked, startling one of the morning cleaners, Magda, that was passing by the hall entrance. "How're you doin'?" I asked, giving her a tight lipped smile and a nod. She simply hummed and grimaced – although I think it was supposed to be a smile of sorts – then continued on her way, shooting a few cautious glances my way before completely disappearing.

The sound of a door opening directed my attention back to my office, where Emmett was now hesitantly tip-toeing back to his office.

"I swear to God, Emmett, if more of that crap pops up on my screen..." I trailed off, clenching my jaw as I shook my head warningly at him.

"Hey, I was just trying to be a supportive friend," he insisted, his hands in the air, declaring his innocence. "I figured you'd need some proper material when you get your first assignment."

He lowered a hand to the front of his pants, mimicking the motions involved in jacking off, then cackled, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. I made a quick movement towards him and he ducked into his office quickly, slamming the door shut though I could still hear his cackles.

"You can't stay in there forever, asshole," I grinned, pounding on his door as I made my way towards my office.

"No, but I can keep my ass safe in here for the remainder of the day!" he argued.

"It's all good," I replied calmly. "I'd be careful if I were you in regards to what I ate. I don't think I'd have a hard time convincing Freddy to slip some X-lax into your drinks from here on out."

His snickers cut off abruptly and, with the taste of victory on my tongue, I went back to my office to continue what I'd been so obscenely interrupted from doing. I opened a few web pages, surfing random pages to make sure no more inappropriate – for work, at least – pop ups were going to surface, before feeling safe enough to continue the food orders.

My life couldn't possibly get any more absurd.

* * *

**End Notes: **Review, please. Oh, and send me lots of money 'cos it's my birthday tomorrow and I'm broke. lol. Oh, and for all you**Breaking Bella** readers, remember, it's up for 2 Moonlight Awards. Voting has already begun and round one ends 10/24, so vote! Info on my profile page.


	3. Session 1

**Chapter Notes: **I'm going on vacation tomorrow, so I figured I might as well write and post a new chapter of this story. Thanks to the usuals - Hannah, 'cos she gave me an idea when I was stuck and it, in turn, spawned other ideas that essentially make up the last half of the chapter; Missy, for being my fuckawesome and speedy as hell beta; and, of course, you all in advance. I hope you enjoy it. xx

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Twilight. In fact, the only thing I own right now is my incredibly sour mood.

* * *

_-E-_

The week went by uneventfully – thank God. I'd been terrified that every time I walked through the restaurant there would be pointed glances, whispers behind hands and snickers amongst the waitresses and bartenders, but apparently I'd picked a good employee to share my newly acknowledged lack of skills in the sack with, as it appeared that she _hadn't_ shared her knowledge of it with anybody. Well, except with the person the accidental text was meant for...whom I'd come to find out was my cousin, Rosalie Cullen. And she wasn't letting me live it down either.

"Hey, Jackie No-O," she greeted as she waltzed into my office on her break Tuesday night.

"Okay, first of all," I started, turning away from my computer to glare at her, "I am not a female, so that nickname doesn't really work."

"Sure it does," she cut in with a shrug as I took a breath to continue with the second half of my statement. "'Jackie' can be short for jackrabbit, and 'No-O' - well, that's self explanatory." She chuckled, sashaying over to the chair opposite me, then sat down, crossing her legs and propping an elbow on her knee, resting her chin on her palm. I stared blankly at her for a few moments, wondering, as I often did when I was around her, why exactly it was that she worked at my restaurant. Then my eyes wandered to the family picture on my desk and I caught sight of my aunt and uncle smiling back at me, and – ah, yes, _that's_ why.

"Why did your parents keep you?" I asked in all seriousness.

"Because they knew I'd be beautiful; why wouldn't they?" she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"What the hell do you want, Rosalie?" I snapped. I swear to God, if I didn't love her parents so much...

"I need tomorrow night off," she said, scratching the top of her head with one of her acrylic nails.

I pretended to ponder it for a few seconds before replying with a curt, "No," and turning back to my computer.

"Oh, come _on_, Edward," she complained, standing up and leaning on my desk. "It's one night, and I've already asked Tanya to cover for me. I hardly ever ask for days off, I always cover for the dumb broads that call in when you ask, and my ass _alone_ brings in business!"

"Yes, thank you," I said sarcastically. "Unfortunately, you never give me nearly enough notice to rearrange schedules."

"You have a whole day!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms up.

"I'll have to rearrange her schedule so that she's not overworked, in which case I'll have to stick somebody _else_ on a new shift to replace the one she was supposed to work, then repeat the cycle until you make those hours up," I argued. "It's not that simple."

Okay, I'll admit it – I liked giving her a hard time. She really _was_ a good worker, excluding the fact that she was a living, breathing version of a fly that just wouldn't _die_ in my life, and she rarely requested time off.

"Bull. shit." She began tapping her nails on my desk, which was extremely annoying. I stared at the claws, then up at her extremely dissatisfied face, before resuming a letter to mine and Emmett's bank that I'd been working on before I was so rudely interrupted.

"Fine, whatever," I sighed. "You're working her Saturday shift behind the bar, then."

"Uh huh," she replied dismissively. "Thanks, boss."

"You're still the bane of my existence," I murmured.

"And you still suck in bed," she retorted sweetly, patting my cheek, "but I love you, anyway."

"Get out of my office," I grumbled, scowling at her as she made her way to the door.

"I'm going—oh! Hey, Emmett," she purred. I looked up and saw Emmett waltzing in, and Rosalie leaning and all but _grinding_ on the edge of the door as she grinned up at him.

"Hey baby," he replied, looking her up as down as he bit his bottom lip – ugh, _gag_ me. "What's—"

"_Out_!" I shouted, startling Rosalie.

"Ugh, whatever," she huffed, stomping out and grumbling to herself. I resisted the urge to climb over the desk and punch Emmett in the mouth as he called out a goodbye to her and made it a point to watch her walk down the hall, as she no doubt put on a little show for him. I may not have liked her much, but she was still my family and I was fiercely protective.

"What do you want?" I growled when his attention was _finally_ off my cousin's ass.

"Just came to chat," he grinned, plopping down in the seat Rosalie had vacated moments before.

"Don't you people ever work?" I demanded. "Why can't everybody leave me the hell alone?"

"Because you're just that loveable."

"Fuck off," I said, a smirk forming on my lips against my will. "Alright, I'm trying to write a letter to that asshole loan agent that's always on our ass. How does this sound?

"To whom it may concern: I have received ample notice of the annual interest rate increase as well as the due dates of payments—"

"Yeah, sounds great," he said, cutting me off. "So, your first real session is tomorrow. Are you excited?"

I should have known. I saved the letter, giving up on it for the time being, then rolled my chair over a bit so I was directly in front of his eager face.

"Why would I be excited about the fact that I have to take lessons because I suck at sex?" I hissed, rubbing my face. I wished there was a button I could press that would just make him...disappear.

"Because you get to take lessons from a hot, young teacher," he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Say something worth wasting my time on, or get out."

"Why are you such a bastard lately?" he grumbled.

"Because I suck in bed," I retorted.

"Is that going to be your excuse for everything now? 'I suck in bed'?"

"That's actually a fantastic idea," I said with a smirk. "Thanks."

"I liked you way better when you didn't know you were sexually inadequate."

"Blame Tanya's inability to send a text message to the right person," I replied in a bored tone.

"I do. I think I'll fire her, if I can be bothered to look for her number when I get back to my office," he said as he stretched out his legs and scratched his stomach.

I barked out a laugh, shaking my head at him, and he chuckled along with me.

"Alright," he sighed, "read me the damn letter."

"Can't," I shrugged, an apologetic look on my face, "I'm bad in bed."

-*-

I sat in the reception area with my hands clasped, looking around awkwardly as the woman at the front desk – Alice, her name plate read – stared at me. It wasn't a harsh stare, more so curious, but it was awkward just the same.

"Don't worry," she said out of nowhere. I looked over at her, my eyebrows raised in surprise. She simply stared at me with wide, hazel eyes, her chin cradled between both of her hands, and a smile on her face. "Everybody comes out of the first meeting feeling really awkward and weirded out, but they all say it gets easier each week."

"Ah," I said, nodding my head slowly. "Thanks..."

Her smile widened momentarily and she shrugged, then resumed flipping through the magazine she'd been looking at when I first walked in.

I puffed my cheeks out and looked around the homely office. The walls were painted in soft beige tones, with Kinkade paintings placed at different heights around the room. A slim, dark, wooden magazine rack, with a small lamp, stood between two blue-gray waiting chairs; two more were on either side of those. A file cabinet, in the same blue-gray color as the chairs, stood against the opposite wall, directly behind Alice's extremely organized dark, cherry desk. There was a burgundy and beige rug with intricate designs weaved in that led to Isabella's office door, and another connected to the end of that rug leading to another door. I'd not been in that one, and I wondered what it led to.

I felt like a total douche for actually paying attention to that shit, and when Alice happily chirped that Isabella was ready for me – I'd have to tell her to choose her words more carefully in the future – I jumped out of my seat and started towards the office door.

"Wrong door,"Alice said, stopping me in my tracks. "You want that one." She pointed to the door on her right, the one I'd just been wondering about, with a smile. "Just follow the hall all the way down until you see G1; that's where you'll start."

I nodded, backtracking my steps, then walked towards the other door. I heard a click and furrowed my eyebrows, reaching for the doorknob hesitantly.

"It's not going to bite you," Alice giggled. "Stop _worrying_. You'll be fine."

I gave her a nervous smile and laugh before pulling the door open, waving slightly over my shoulder, and walking through the door frame. I started down the hall as I'd been instructed, following it down as it veered to the left. The third door to the left was marked G1. I stopped in front of it and knocked firmly two times, waiting until I heard Isabella's voice telling me to come in to open the door.

The room was dimly lit and plain – there was a projector attached to the ceiling, and a white screen covering the width and length of most of the wall ahead. Isabella was perched on the arm of a chair in the center of the room, looking just as fuckable as she had the last time, dressed in a black, corset waist, sleeveless blouse – the top half in midnight blue - black trousers, and black stilettos. I rubbed my temples and nudged the door shut with my foot, wondering if she knew that she was inadvertently _killing_ me.

"Good morning," she greeted, standing upright and running her hands down her thighs. It was innocent enough - most likely to smooth out any wrinkles - but my mind was raging with lust. Images of her doing a Maxim-type photo shoot, running her hands up and down her body as a fan blew her hair around, filled my thoughts. I had to look away as my jeans became tighter by the millisecond and tried desperately to think about anything _other_ than the fact that I was completely fucked for the next two months – and not in a good way.

"Morning," I muttered, staring at her forehead and giving a tight-lipped smile. The forehead was good; I couldn't really find anything dirty about that.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

_Like I'm about to drop my pants and beat myself off into oblivion, and you?_

"Nervous," I muttered, running a hand through my hair.

"No need to be," she replied sweetly. Yeah, easy for _her_ to say; she knew how to have sex the right way, obviously. "It gets easier as the weeks go on, I promise."

"So Alice said," I said, nodding.

"Mm. Alright, then. Are you ready to start?"

_Oh, you have _no _idea_.

*

I stood in front of the long table she'd led me to on the right side of the room, staring down at it with my mouth hanging open.

"What the hell is this?"

"I believe it's Model A, fair-skinned, with the face titled 'Aimee'," she mused. "It's a Realdoll."

"And why is this..._doll_...here? Why am I staring at it?" I asked as I hesitantly poked at the arm of the nude, silicone doll staring blankly up at me. Truth be told, I was deathly afraid to hear the answer.

"It's here for practice," she said calmly. "All my clients have to do this."

"Do what, exactly?" I was really starting to get terrified.

"In order to really be able to understand what I'm working with, I need to see your technique. You'll use the doll for demonstration purposes; it's very limber, so don't worry about breaking it."

"_What?_" I cried, staring down at her in horror. Oh. My. God. She could _not_ be serious.

"You'll be fully clothed," she insisted.

What. The. Fuck. Whatthefuck.

"This is just for me, Edward," she assured me. _That's the problem!_ I screamed in my head. "There's no hidden cameras, no peep holes, this is to _help_ you – and it will help. That's what you came to me for, right?"

I closed my eyes and clenched my jaw, inhaling deeply through my nose. _I can't believe I'm about to do this_, I thought, as I opened my eyes and slowly made my way to the edge of the table, where the sex doll's feet hung off slightly. I hesitantly reached down, placing my palms on the silicone thighs that were already spread, the legs bent at the knees.

"Ugh, this is sick," I whispered under my breath, cringing slightly.

_The end result, Cullen_, I told myself, _the end result. _If this was what I had to do in order to become a master between the sheets, then so be it. But God help me, when this was all over, I would make damn sure I'd fuck my teacher good and proper, and I would never, _ever_ think about the fact that I had to practice on a _sex doll_.

With a curt nod, mainly to give myself the green light, I pursed my lips and pulled the..._thing_...closer to my hips. Any semblance of a hard-on I might have had while standing next to Isabella was gone for God only knew how long. There was nothing remotely sexy about this situation at _all_. When the doll was as close to my junk as it was going to get, I curled my hands around its hips, took a deep breath, exhaled with puffy cheeks, and pulled back slowly before making my first thrust that felt like, and probably resembled more of a twitch than an actual thrust. I repeated the action a second time, barely smoother, as I looked up at the ceiling, asking God what I'd done so wrong in life to deserve this.

I did it a third time, and a fourth; the motions were becoming smoother as I went on, and that notion alone freaked me out even more than I'd been in the first place. When I pulled back for the sixth thrust, I let go of the doll and threw my hands up in surrender before backing up, shaking my head.

"I can't do it. I can't do this shit, it's too fucking weird," I croaked. Sweet Jesus, I couldn't believe I even lasted _that_ long.

"Okay," she said, "it's fine. It normally is very awkward the first time; you lasted longer than most, truthfully."

If that was meant to be a compliment...well, it wasn't. Wait—

"First time?" I questioned, looking over at her while simultaneously moving as far away from the God forsaken doll as possible. "How many times am I gonna have to try that shit?"

She simply smiled, ignoring my question – this hardly put me at ease – and motioned for me to follow her to the chairs sitting in front of the projector screen.

"Sit," she ordered, picking up a remote. I did as she instructed and looked up at her, feeling only slightly better. Whatever this next part was couldn't be any worse than what I'd just had to go through.

"I'm going to show you six 15 second clips," she started. "Each of them are a different speed, and/or intensity of thrusting. After watching each of them, I want you to tell me which one you think is the closest - or preferably the exact - speed with which you normally thrust."

I nodded; that sounded simple enough.

She sat down in the chair next to mine and pressed the power button for the projector. A main menu appeared on the screen, and, after asking me if I was ready, she pressed the play button.

In the first clip, the man was going at a medium speed, but the bed was barely moving. The girl didn't seem to be enjoying it much, though he didn't appear terribly thrilled with it either. In the second, the speed stayed the same, but the thrusting was more apparent to the eye. Each clip that was played showed faster thrusting, more intense, and after the last clip ended, she turned off the projector and turned to me.

"So?" she questioned. I pursed my lips, twisting them to the side as I thought of which one I was closer to.

"I think I'm probably about a 4," I replied, nodding. She smiled and set the remote down before standing up.

"Meteorologists determine what the temperature will be days, even weeks, before it actually happens," she said, "but the _actual _temperatures are always different than what was predicted."

"Uh...okay...?" I trailed off, not really understanding what the hell weather had to do with the videos she'd just shown me. Was she trying to tell me it was Mother Nature's fault I was bad in bed?

"This activity is a lot like weather forecasts in that respect," she finished, and I raised an eyebrow at her. "Studies on this very activity indicate that the way men _think_ they are in bed is actually quite different than how they really are."

Realization dawned on me and I stared up at her nervously. "So then...I'm actually not...?"

"No," she said simply, shaking her head. "If you think you are a four, the reality is that you're probably closer to a six."

"But that guy looked like he was on speed!" I argued. "There's no way...is there?"

Oh no. No, no, _no_, that was not okay! How had I gone through life being a fucking _six_? I wondered how the hell this was supposed to help me when all I felt like doing at that moment was shooting myself in the face. This was the worst possible thing that could happen to a man. I might as well make an appointment for a sex change operation immediately; my dick was apparently useless anyway.

"What we want to set as our end goal is a beginning speed and intensity of two, a gradual increase during the act of intercourse, and no more than a five at the end," she said calmly.

"How am I supposed to do that when, apparently, I fuck like I'm on a never-ending Ritalin high?" I groaned, tugging at my hair. I should have stayed a virgin forever; of that much, I was convinced.

"By _trusting_ me," she replied. I turned my head to look up at her pathetically, dropping my hands to my lap with a sigh.

"Okay," I nodded. "I trust you."

"Good," she smiled brightly. My dick only slightly stirred in my pants, as it was still traumatized and probably pissed off at me for doing it wrong time and time again. Isabella lifted her arm up, checking the watch on her slim wrist, then looked down at me again.

"We only have a few more minutes left of our session, so I'm going to go ahead and give you your assignments, then send you back up to Alice to make your next appointment," she said.

"Alright." I nodded and stood up, waiting for her to continue.

"Okay. First, I want you to buy a composition book – whatever kind you want, I don't care. You're going to keep a self-pleasure diary of sorts—"

"You want me to keep a masturbation log?" I asked incredulously, cutting her off.

"Not entirely, as you'd have known if you hadn't interrupted," she said, giving me a pointed look. "I want you to write down your techniques – you know, the rhythm, speed, all that – starting from today and ending the day before your next appointment."

"Fine," I grumbled. Nothing could be more embarrassing than the fucking doll.

"Very good," she said approvingly. "Second, and lastly, I want you to practice your thrusting; mid-air, with pillows, on the edge of the bed, whatever you feel like doing. You'll be practicing on that doll every week so that I can mark your progress and see what you need to work on."

Okay, so maybe the whole "she's trying to kill me" thing wasn't quite so inadvertent, after all.

_You're a six_, I told myself, _and you probably need to be a three to get her off – and you _will_ get her off_.

"Yup," I answered through gritted teeth, hating my life more and more each second.

"Good," she replied with a wink. "I'll see you next week then."

"Bye, Isabella," I sighed, turning to walk towards the door.

"Bella," she corrected, and I paused mid-stride, turning to look at her over my shoulder.

"Bella," I repeated, a smirk forming on my face, before walking out the door and shutting it behind me.

I made my appointment with Alice for the same time and day the following week, then headed to work. I began devising an entrance plan in my head as I drove along the freeway. I needed to get in without Emmett seeing me, then lock myself in my office for as long as possible. I thanked the higher power for the person who invented the confidentiality clause, because as much as I felt like dying at the thought of having to hump that fucking doll for the next eight weeks, the prospect of Emmett, or really _anybody_ I knew, finding out about it would send me into cardiac arrest. Then that eulogy I'd so cleverly come up with weeks ago could be put to use.

* * *

**End Notes: **Review, lovelies. I enjoy your praise. :D


	4. Unexpected Encounters

**Chapter Notes: **Sorry for the delay, guys. Thanks to my beta, Missy, for taking the time to fix my mistakes, and for always telling me like it is. ;) Thanks to my lovah for always reading my crappy, unedited chapters and being real with me, and for basically just being _her_. I love you, Hannah. :) And, of course, thanks to all of _you_ for reading and reviewing.

SPECIAL thanks to: Sweek539, alfalfa04, and LaLerin for buying me in the Fandom Gives Back auction. These three amazing ladies collectively donated **$170 **to a wonderful cause by bidding on me - I think the whole auction ended up collecting about **_$83,000_** - and I'm so honored to be a part of a community that cares enough to do all this for a cause I'm really passionate about. Okay, enough. Enjoy! xx

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Twilight or any of its affiliates. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction. Drr.

* * *

_-E-_

I sat on the couch with pursed lips, tapping a pen against my thigh, and stared at the composition book laying on the table. At some point within the last few days, the bane of my existence had changed from Rosalie to this cheap, wretched thing (although I hadn't talked to her in as long, so it was all together possible that theory would revert back when I did).

I'd tried, I really had. Every time I settled in with a nice porn video and lotion and started to jack off, a little voice in my head kept chanting, "Remember your technique!" That was off-putting in and of itself. Add in the mental image of me humping Cletus – I was very much aware that Cletus was a male name. However, that was the only one I could come up with that seemed fitting for that fucking doll - that never failed to pop up immediately after, along with the knowledge that I'd have to do it over and over again for the next seven weeks, and my hard-on was no more.

Not only was I going to fail my first assignment, but now I was extremely sexually frustrated. I hadn't been able to properly masturbate in four fucking days. Wasn't it bad enough that I was shit in bed? Did God not find my shortcomings humorous enough, and he needed to add to them?

"I'm not amused, God," I muttered, throwing my pen at the composition book. It bounced off the cover and twirled a few feet in the air, landing on the floor. I leaned my head back with closed eyes, sighing heavily. I really didn't feel like getting up to retrieve it. I opened my eyes and stared at my blank wide screen, occasionally averting my gaze over to the pen then back to the TV. After about five minutes of doing this, in complete and utter silence, I damn near fell off the couch when I heard: _Bang! Bang! Bang! _"Open up, sucka!"

"Go away," I groaned, hoisting myself up from the couch and trudging towards the door as Emmett – I knew without a shadow of a doubt it was him - pounded loudly a few more times.

"Get dressed," Emmett said without preamble, pushing me aside and strolling into the living room immediately after I opened the door. "We're going out."

I stared at his back, as he walked to the couch and plopped down.

"Come in, have a seat, make yourself comfortable," I said sarcastically, pushing the door shut with my foot and following his path.

"Uh huh," he replied, swiping the composition book off the table and flipping through it. "What the hell is this?"

"Nothing that concerns you," I quipped, snatching it out of his hands. Thank God I didn't have anything written in there. I didn't even want to _think_ about how I'd explain that one.

"Are you trying to write poetry or some shit?" he asked, scoffing slightly. "Why the hell else would you need that?"

"_No_, I'm not writing poetry," I snapped. "It's for..." Shit, shit, shit. _Think, Cullen! _"...It's for the restaurant."

Original.

Emmett raised a skeptical eyebrow, so clearly I hadn't fooled him.

"There's times that I think of things – ideas and such for food – and I say to myself, 'I'll remember it tomorrow', but I never do." I didn't know where the hell this crock of shit was coming from, but I couldn't really afford to ponder it. I needed to keep going until he bought it. "So I bought one of these 'cos they're cheap and readily available for such instances. _Not_ that it's really any of your business," I added.

He stared at me for a few moments before shrugging and responding with, "Whatever."

Really? I just busted my ass to come up with a legit lie only for him to say, "Whatever"?

"You know, I really wouldn't mind your presence so much, had I been expecting you."

"The surprise factor makes it all the more worthy of appreciation. Go get dressed; I wanna be at Trinity by 9:30." Emmett grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, then began surfing through the channels.

"I don't want to go anywhere." _More like, "What's the point? I can't fuck anybody."_

"I don't recall asking you what you wanted," he retorted, propping his feet on my coffee table.

"Get out of my house, asshole."

"No, it's okay. Besides, you don't have anything else to do." _Actually, I do. __I have to work on my jack-off journal._

Yeah, right. I'd rather falsely admit I was writing poetry about my cold, blackened soul than tell him the truth. Rolling my eyes and sighing in defeat, I grumbled my compliance and trudged to my room to get ready for my pointless night out.

This bastard was gonna owe me big.

*

I sat at the bar, casually drinking my second bottle of Heineken as I looked out to the hundreds of dancing bodies with a bored expression. Emmett had disappeared almost immediately after getting a drink with the usual vapid bimbo hanging off his arm. I' d been sitting here ever since – God knew how long that had been – wishing I'd pretended to OD on sleeping pills or something; anything that might have made Emmett leave my apartment before I'd answered the door so I wouldn't have had to endure this crap. I probably would have been just as bored, but at least I'd still have been home with my wide screen, I'd have one more clean outfit, and the twenty dollar bill I'd had to break would still be in my wallet.

A hand slapped my back hard and I tensed, whipping around in my seat and ready to deck somebody. Emmett appeared next to me a moment later, leaning his side against the bar, and I relaxed, knowing it had probably been him.

"Enjoying yourself?" he joked, gesturing to the beer I was nursing.

"It's stuffy, it's beginning to smell, and – I'm starting to sound like my father in the gym's locker room."

"You're killing my buzz, man!" he shouted in my ear, his eyes droopy and slightly glazed over as he stared at me with a lazy grin. "I can see you sulking from a mile away."

"I would apologize, but I don't really care," I shouted back. "Where's the ho?"

"Dunno," he shrugged, "lost her about twenty minutes ago. I've moved onto Ivanka, now." He turned and waved, smirking and nodding towards the dance floor. I followed the direction of his gaze with a raised eyebrow and rolled my eyes as I spotted the clone of the former hooker. I turned back towards the bar and finished off my beer, slamming the bottle down on the counter.

"Her tits look like they're about to explode," I snorted.

"I know. Isn't it great? Later!"

I shook my head, running my hands through my hair. I wished he'd hurry the fuck up and decide who to take home so I could leave and get back to my pathetic life. One of the bartenders – Tracy, her name tag read – sauntered over to grab my empty beer bottle.

"You want another drink, handsome?" she asked flirtatiously, folding her arms on the bar counter and leaning forward so her tits were practically falling out. Naturally, my gaze drifted down, and I chastised myself for falling for that move. I looked back up at her face and she smirked, smacking her gum.

"No, I'm good," I replied, clearing my throat. "Thanks."

"You sure? I can't get you _anything_?" she insisted. _Sure, if you're a genie in disguise and can alter my sex techniques_, I thought. Instead, I clenched my jaw, smiling tightly at her as I nodded my head curtly. She shrugged and turned, sashaying to the other end of the bar, and I looked after her wistfully. Two weeks ago I would have been all over that; I'd have waited around until she was off work, gone to her place, and hit it good - or at least I'd have _thought_ I hit it good. Now I was reduced to being a boring old fart sitting alone at the bar, getting irritated because my best friend was taking too long to find his next sexual conquest.

Just as I began to scowl at the thought, I saw him stumbling through the throng of people swaying on the dance floor, his arm slung over yet another girl – apparently his stint with _Ivanka _was short-lived. His hand was dangerously close to her boob, his fingers slightly curved as if he were about to cop a feel. To an innocent bystander – or a drunk one, considering our location – it would look coincidental; like his hand was just in a relaxed position, but I knew better.

"Ready to go?" he slurred slightly, once he and the unknown tramp approached me, wiggling his eyebrows as he grinned drunkenly. I rolled my eyes and stood up, feeling my pockets for my wallet and phone. Still-yet-to-be-identified-woman leaned into him and whispered in his ear, and Emmett laughed, shrugging, before turning his attention back to me.

"I don't know, are you joining us, Eddie?" he snorted. I stared blankly at him, extremely unamused.

"While that offer is tempting," I said blandly, "I think I'll pass."

"Good deal, man. More of..." He trailed off, his eyes looking around as his eyebrows furrowed slightly, "...This sexy lady for me," he finished, and I put the back of my hand to my mouth, looking to the side as I laughed silently at the fact that he couldn't even remember her name. Clearing my throat and sniffing, I looked back at the two in amusement, gesturing towards the exit.

Ten fucking hours later we made it out to the car. It'd been an ordeal and a half trying to get the keys from Emmett, as he and what's-her-face were mauling each other against random cars the entire way. I swear to God, if I had to pull him by the back of his blazer and shove him in the right direction one more time, my foot would have been lodged so far up his ass, it would have taken a five hour surgery to remove it.

The two of them continued their foreplay in the backseat as I pulled onto the street and started toward his apartment. I cringed and fake-gagged at every moan and whisper of dirty talk, smacking the knob on the stereo to turn on the radio. A deafening roar came through the speakers, insanely fast drumming and guitar riffs in the background, and scared the living shit out of me. I immediately smacked the knob again to turn the stereo off, looking down at it wearily.

"What the fuck was that?" Emmett shouted.

"I don't know! It's your fucking music, you tell me!" I snapped, glaring at him in the rearview mirror.

"I don't even – mmmm, do that again baby," he moaned.

"Oh, for the love of – fuck my life," I groaned, stepping on the gas pedal as I turned.

I couldn't have pulled up to the curb in front of Emmett's complex fast enough. I threw the car into park and jumped out, pulling the back seat up. After 30 seconds of leaning my palm against the door panel and nobody exiting, I stuck my leg inside the door cautiously – Emmett's black Nissan 370Z was his pride and joy, and if I fucked up anything in or on that car, he would have my balls – and stomped down on his foot to get his attention. A yelp and a few select curse words later, he and Skankzilla (who looked like _hell_ outside the club, by the way – I'd have a hell of a good time giving him shit when he would undoubtedly call me up in a state of panic in the morning) stumbled out of the car, hanging off of each other.

"I'm taking your car home," I stated simply as I began taking the key off the ring, knowing he was too drunk and too involved with sucking face to argue. He grunted, holding out his hand, and I dropped his remaining keys onto his palm. "I'll bring it back tomorrow," I called after him as they started towards the doors of his complex. He didn't pay me any mind, and, with a shrug and a smirk, I put the seat back, got into the car, and drove off.

I glanced at the clock while stopped at a red light and sighed. It was half past midnight, and while I'd been so eager to get the hell out of the club, I really didn't feel going home anymore. As I approached the street I needed to turn down to get home, I twisted my lips to the side in contemplation.

_Sit at home with your jerk-off journal, or go for a late night cruise in a pimp car?_ Yeah, hardly a difficult decision.

I zoomed through the green light, heading towards the freeway. I turned the stereo back on, lowering the volume immediately so as not to get the crap scared out of me again, and changed the station to _The End_ as I merged onto the I-5 South. I drove down the freeway, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of each song. After about fifteen minutes I figured I may as well turn around when I saw a Denny's billboard. Right on queue, my stomach growled uncomfortably, reminding me that I'd skipped dinner. Figuring, once again, that I had nothing better waiting for me at home, I switched lanes and veered off on the next exit. A stop light and five minutes later, I pulled into the surprisingly, fairly empty lot and parked. Compulsively, I hit the alarm button three times, just to make sure it was locked, before walking into the restaurant.

I smiled and nodded at the waiter who asked if it was just me, following him to one of the smaller booths on the right side of the restaurant. I requested a water and opened my menu, my mouth salivating at the pictures of all the delicious looking burgers. That was the problem with going out to eat when you were absolutely famished; everything looked fan-fucking-tastic and you ordered the most random shit because it sounded good at the time...Until you were sitting there with a Western Burger, nachos, garlic bread, a Grand Slam, and a side of rice pilaf in front of you. The only thing that comes to mind at that point is, "What in the _hell _was I on when I ordered this shit?"

Deciding on the Chicken Ranch Melt – sans bacon – I closed my menu and set it down, wondering where the hell my water was.

"You good, B?" I heard from behind me. "I'll be with you soon, I promise."

"I'm good, Jake," a female voice replied in an amused tone. "No hurry."

I paused, furrowing my eyebrows slightly in concentration. Her voice sounded incredibly familiar, but I couldn't place it. Looking over my shoulder as subtly as I could manage – which, admittedly, wasn't very subtle – I took in the woman's face and nearly fell out of my seat.

Of all the fucking places – and _times_, at that – to run into Bella Swan...

Denny's was my new favorite late-night hangout.

* * *

_-B-_

I really shouldn't have cared what I looked like; normally, I didn't. Whenever I showed up here late at night, which was more often than not, I was always in sweats or pajama bottoms. There was no dress code at Denny's, and even if there was, Jake wouldn't have given two shits. He was the owner's son, he ran the damn place, and he was hardly the most dapper of men. Most nights, though, a client of mine didn't waltz in looking unconstitutionally gorgeous. Most nights, I didn't think of _anybody_ as "unconstitutionally gorgeous". And I didn't want to fuck _any_ of my clients...until said unconstitutionally gorgeous client walked into my office two weeks ago.

Damn it all to hell; I was completely screwed.

Even more so when he looked over his shoulder and recognition crossed his face. I gripped my coffee mug and pursed my lips, cursing myself internally. I _knew_ I should have switched seats when he walked in. He hadn't noticed me when he first walked in, so he definitely wouldn't have seen me if my back was to him. Maybe I _wanted_ him to see me, though, as absurd as that seemed considering I looked like hell warmed over. I had no make up on, I was in baggy sweats and a zip-up hoodie, and my hair was thrown up in a messy bun. I was hardly the definition of beauty right now. Regardless of my apparent warped way of thinking, he'd seen me, and he was _still _staring at me. There was no escaping the inevitable communication.

Jake took his order, openly glaring at Edward as he was still continuously looking in my direction. I smirked slightly; no matter how often I assured Jake I had things under control, he was still overprotective of me. After Jake snatched Edward's menu off the table and stalked off towards the kitchen (probably to instruct the chef to dump a bunch of chipotle sauce on his order inconspicuously), throwing me cautious glances as he went, Edward turned more in his seat to face me better.

"Bella?" he asked finally.

"Edward," I said, though it sounded more like a wistful sigh than anything else. I tensed slightly. I needed to get myself under control. I couldn't turn into an overly-hormonal teenage girl who fawns over her crush in the hallway every day whenever I talked to him.

He stared at me for a few moments in complete silence, his eyes glazing over slightly, and I swallowed, looking around awkwardly as I twisted my mug around on the table. He blinked a few times, shaking himself out of his daze, and scratched his head.

"What, uh, what are you doing...here?" he asked, stumbling over his words.

"What everybody's doing this late at night – waiting for my drug dealer," I deadpanned. His eyes widened exponentially, a look of horror crossing his face before he smoothed his expression into one of nonchalance.

"Ah. Well, have fun..." he trailed off, his eyebrows furrowed as he slowly began to turn around. I couldn't help it. I snorted loudly, clapping my hand over my mouth as I snickered. He turned back to me, giving me an odd look, which turned into one of confusion, then realization.

"You weren't—" he started, and I shook my head side to side, my eyes closed as I chortled.

"If I truly _was_ waiting for a drug dealer," I said after I'd caught my breath, "I wouldn't be doing it at Denny's, and I most _certainly_ wouldn't broadcast it like that. Especially not to a client."

"Yeah, I figured that out a little late," he replied, chuckling at his momentary lapse of judgment. "I'm really not that stupid, I swear."

"I believe you," I replied, a grin still on my face.

"Do you, uh..." He paused for a moment, looking slightly unsure of himself, before continuing, "Would you like to join me?"

_Shit_. I swallowed thickly, my eyes closing as the grin fell from my lips. _You shouldn't, Bella. You _really_ shouldn't._

_I really shouldn't want to_, I argued...with myself. And I used to be a therapist. A sex therapist, but a therapist nonetheless.

"I mean, you don't have to," he hurriedly added. "I just thought it'd be a little more convenient than talking through a glass divider on the back of my seat. It's fine, though."

_Great_, I scolded myself. _You managed to make the poor guy second-guess himself even more than he probably already does when all you want to do is hop over that glass divider and ride him like there's no—_

"No, it's not that," I said quickly, ridding myself of inappropriate thoughts as much as I possibly could. "I...I'd love to."

I picked up my coffee mug and purse, slid out of my seat, and walked slowly towards the booth in front of me as Edward turned back around in his seat.

"More water, sir?" Jake asked tersely, holding the water pitcher up for emphasis. By the look on his face and the small smirk gracing his lips, I could tell he was picturing himself dumping the ice cold water all over Edward's head. Idiot. Edward nodded, smiling nervously at him – clearly, he'd noticed Jake's seemingly unwarranted hostility.

"I want more coffee," I stated in an attempt to get the focus off Edward. Jake looked over at me like I was nuts for sitting with the guy who was blatantly staring at me ten minutes ago, and I sighed in defeat. I hadn't really wanted to get into the details of how I knew Edward, but for his sake, I figured I should clear the air.

"Edward, this is Jacob," I continued. "He's my best friend." Edward nodded up at Jake awkwardly before looking back at me. "Jake, this is Edward. I'm...working with him...temporarily."

Jake's expression went from guarded, to confused, then realization flashed across his face, followed almost immediately by incredulity. I felt horrible because I knew, even though he didn't, that I'd betrayed Edward's trust. Jake had been the ex-boyfriend I'd told him about when he'd asked how I got started doing what I do, so naturally, he knew what I meant whenever a "client" was mentioned, or, in this case, somebody I was "working" with.

With that knowledge, though, Jake also knew that I _never_ fraternized with clients outside of the office. I'd surprisingly never actually run into one in public – Denny's in the middle of the night, at that – but even if I had, I'd never have actually sat with them. I knew Jake's mind was reeling with questions, that much was evident in his eyes. I looked up at him in defeat, hoping to convey that I had no idea what the hell I was doing or why, other than the fact that I _wanted_ to be here with Edward. Jake took that as his queue to leave, nodding his head infinitesimally but giving me a, "We're gonna talk about this at some point," look as he walked around the corner. I sighed and slumped against the booth. Why did this have to be so damn difficult?

"That was...awkward," he muttered.

"Sorry about that," I said, clearing my throat and straightening in my seat. "He's overbearing and thinks everybody's trying to molest me."

Edward laughed nervously, squirming in his seat. We sat in awkward silence for a few moments; me tapping my fingers on the rim of my mug, and him tapping his fingers against his wrapped up silverware.

"So tell me about yourself," he said finally.

"I already did," I replied, quirking an eyebrow as I took a sip of my coffee.

"No, you told me about your _work_," he corrected. "I want to know about you."

I stared at him for a few moments before saying softly, "What do you want to know?"

"Everything," he responded easily. "Where are you from?"

"I'm a Seattle native – born and raised," I said confidently. "You?"

"Same. Favorite color?"

"Red."

"Green," he replied before I had a chance to ask him the same question. I smirked, enjoying the easiness of the conversation.

"Favorite band?" I asked.

"Smashing Pumpkins. They were my very first concert at nine years old." I nodded in approval, then he asked, "Yours?"

"Beatles."

"_Nice_. They're a close second."

I scoffed. "Please. Everything else pales in comparison."

And so we continued on like that, exchanging questions and answers. When his food came conversation didn't lull; he simply pushed his plate towards me, silently offering me fries, and argued the order in which I listed my favorite movies. When we finally began yawning we looked at the time.

"It's been three hours?" I asked, completely flabbergasted.

"Doesn't seem like it was that long," he mused.

"No, it doesn't."

"That's a good thing in my book."

I turned my gaze back to him, noting that even with tired eyes, he was still extraordinarily handsome. At that moment I hated my job, because really, that was the only thing preventing me from leaning across the table and kissing him senseless.

And I _really_ hated whoever the hell had told him to come to me. I would figure it out sooner or later, and when I did, I was going to punch him in the nuts.

"I shouldn't be sitting here, talking with you like this," I murmured, my eyes roaming across Edward's face.

"Why not?" he countered, his honey brown eyes blazing.

"I don't know," I answered honestly.

"Then why'd you say that?" he chuckled.

"Because I feel like I _should _say that;think that."

"But you don't." He didn't ask, simply stated.

"I don't," I agreed.

"Good. I'd feel like a tool if you didn't want to be here."

It was my turn to chuckle. "And why is that?"

"Because I can't think of any place I'd _rather_ be right now."

My breath caught in my throat. Yes, I could and would admit that it was an extremely corny thing to say, but the sincerity in his tone and on his face shifted my heart into overdrive. Mostly because I felt the same way, and try as I might, I couldn't figure out a better way to say it.

_Dammit_, I was in deep shit. But my gut and a small voice in the back of my mind told me that maybe, just maybe, he was worth it; that, perhaps, it was a risk I was ready and willing to take.

* * *

**End Notes: **Review, bb's; let me know what you think! ALSO, head over to the thread! Linkage on my home page. :)


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